


Equal Force

by AStupidUserName420



Category: French Revolution RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Multi, My history professors are ashamed of me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStupidUserName420/pseuds/AStupidUserName420
Summary: In the days before the War with Austria, Brissot needs Robespierre out of his way, one way or another. Madame Roland lives up to her reputation.Meanwhile, Antoine Saint-Just has just arrived in Paris. He was hoping to court Robespierre, properly. However, nothing in this Revolution has been planned so far. Why start now?(An A/B/O fic for the french revolution, with a plot. My depravity knows no bounds! Dedicated to the incredible cantgetoversns, because I adore them.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [billspilledquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/gifts).



> A/N: I’M GOING TO HELL AND I’M TAKING YOU ALL WITH ME!! Although, real talk for a second: A/B/O fics are kind of inherently ‘problematic’ as tumblr would say since they reinforce gender roles and transphobia, whilst also sexualising them. This note is here simply because I want to clarify that this fic isn’t intended to be hurtful, and I’m going to try and keep it in the realm of subversion rather than just playing the tropes straight.
> 
> Also history is my playground and I’m screwing around with it drunk on vodka. This takes place in 1791-1792. So I know the glaring historical errors: people being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Robespierre being involved in the Assembly at all since he wrote the law preventing him from standing for election...ect and so on. All wrong. So very very wrong.
> 
> Also some actual quotes from Brissot in regards to women. I think he’d have similar ideas about Omegas, don’t you? And remember than Manon Roland didn’t think women belonged in the political circles either so…. “Les femmes ne sont pas faites pour vivre ensemble. Leur caractère liant et souple dans la société des hommes, devient aigre et dur quand elles sont réunies. Une république de femmes ne pourroit subsister huit jours ; et la fable des Amazones n’est pas moins invraisemblable en morale qu’en physique.”

 

Chapter One: A Meeting.

 

Danton clapped a meaty hand around his shoulder and pulled Maxime nearly off his feet.

 

“My dear Robespierre,” the bigger Alpha said squeezing his shoulders, “you reek like the back alleys of Paris.”

 

Maxime shrugged him off, irritably. He adjusted his lace cuffs.

 

“It’s none of your business, Danton.”

 

The other man smirked. “You don’t need to say it. I know the smell of an Omega coming off their heat.”

 

Maximilien flushed and shoved him away, more firmly. He worked his way to the center of the Riding School. Brissot and the Rolands stared at him, eyes sharp and hateful.

 

He held his head high as he passed. Let them hate him, he knew what was right and what was wrong. A war with Austria would ruin everything they’d tried to do the last two years.

 

He sat down and neatly folded his legs and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

As the representatives filed past him, all of them averting their gaze as if in the past six weeks Maxime had become a leper. Until…

 

“May I sit here, monsieur?”

 

Maxime looked up, and his heart slowed to a stop.

 

The man standing over him was young, tall, and as the light came through the high windows, covered in shades of gold and blue. His carvat was done up to his chin, and as he tilted his head Maxime caught sight of slim golden hoops dangling from his ears. Brown eyes caught the light and reflected it back in dazzling ways.  

 

He was without a doubt the most handsome man Maxime had ever seen.

 

Maxime realized that he had been sitting silently, staring and his mouth finally caught up with his brain.

 

“Ah, um, oui.”

 

The young man’s mouth quirked up slightly and he gracefully sat himself on Maxime right side. As he did so his clothing brushed along Maxime’s arm and he could smell Alpha pheromones. The lingering tension brought on from his own chaotic hormones gave him a head rush, making his heart race and heat coil in his belly.

 

_Are you serious?_

 

Maxime did his best to focus. Brissot was going to make his case for his war, with his whole party here. Maxime’s frown deepened. This was bad.

 

The young man leaned closer and whispered. “You are Maximilien Robespierre, are you not?”

 

Maxime blinked hard. “Oui,” he whispered.

 

The dazzling young man smiled slightly. “I’m Antoine Saint-Just. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

They turned their attention back to the floor where Brissot mounted the tribune. Maxime hissed under his breath. Not so long ago he thought that Brissot was on honest patriot, someone he could trust. Behind him Danton shifted in his seat, the wood creaking.

 

“Patriots! Citizens of France! I appeal to you, the highest of any authority to aid in others. The slaves of Austria, or Prussia, do you really think that when confronted with our greater freedom that they won’t throw down their rifles and join us?”

 

The hall exploded in noise. Cheers from the right, boos and hisses from the left, Marat howling at the top of his voice.

 

“Patriots! Let us free the rest of Europe from their tyrants! Let us take up arms! Let us have war!”

 

Maxime rocketed to his feet. Brissot looked around to him and his small eyes widened.

 

“Brissot! Cease this! No one loves armed mercenaries!” He shouted. To his surprise Saint-Just rose to his feet as well.

 

“President! I demand the tribune!” Without waiting to hear an affirmative he pushed his way to the top and physically moved Brissot out of the way.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I am Saint-Just, from Blérancourt and I’m speaking against this man!”

 

The hall erupted into noise again. Behind him Camille gasped.

 

“Oh god no, Antoine!”

 

Maxime looked around to Camille, who buried his face in his hands.

 

“Do, do you know him?” He demanded. His voice was lost to the noise.

 

“I demand the floor!” Saint-Just shouted from the tribune. “I demand to be heard! I demand that this hall hear what I have to say! Gentlemen, consider this: who else supports this war? Our own tyrant! Why would Louis support this war? Why does he want the Austrians involved with France’s affairs? Is it because King Veto would like to see us all slain, to reclaim his throne, take back the chains that had bound us to his will.” Saint-Just spoke hypnotically, his voice clear and loud as bells. The hall slowly quieted. Brissot stared up at him, eyes wide and face pale.

 

“These men, our colleagues Brissot and Roland would see us all back under the reign of a tyrant. I warn you, good citizens, do not listen to them. Do not support a war that will undo our Revolution.”

 

There was a moment of silence before Maximilien started clapping wildly. His heart was pounding and later Camille would tell him he was grinning like a lunatic.

 

Saint-Just looked down at him, face surprised. He smiled slightly before the rest of hall began to clap as well, including Georges Danton and Camille.

 

Brissot backed down the tribune, letting Saint-Just pass by. He returned to his seat next to Maxime.

 

Maximilien smiled at him. Antoine smiled back.

 

XXX

 

“What are you doing here, Saint-Just? Finally out of of prison?” Camille asked as they walked next to the Seine.

 

Maxime looked over in surprise.

 

“You know very well I’ve been in law school. And you know I’ve been writing as well.”

 

Camille snorted. “As if those overblown Alpha fantasies could be called ‘writings’. You wrote an entire scene consisting of Omega nuns sodomizing each other a castrated Alpha penis.”

Maxime flushed and when he glanced over Antoine had a light pink tint to his cheeks.

    

However Danton clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

 

“I like your mind sir. Do you have a club yet?”

 

Antoine glanced over his shoulder at Maxime. “I was hoping to join the Jacobins.”

 

XXX

 

Brissot rapped his fingers on the table, grtting his teeth.

 

“Care to explain who that was?” He asked Manon Roland who was writing something.

 

Roland looked up from her papers. “I’m asking around. Camille Desmoulins has a connection. Probably one of his many...indiscretions.”

 

Brissot slammed his hand on the table. “He humiliated me!”

 

Manon glared at him. “I’m aware. He humiliated all of us. We need him, Robespierre, Marat, even Danton out of the way.” She shook her head. “Fools, don't they see that France could easily beat soldiers in chains with freedmen?”

 

Brissot stood. “We need Robespierre out of the way. He leads the Jacobins. Remove him and we can talk Danton around and with him Desmoulins. Then discredit Marat and we can get this _child_ out of the way.”

 

Manon nodded. “Well, I think I have a way to get our dear Robespierre to go away.”

 

She pushed the freshly drafted document over to him.

 

Brissot glanced over it and met the other Beta’s eyes. Slowly he smiled.


	2. A Brissot Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This plot moves at a breakneck pace. Antoine Saint-Just has a serious case of unrequited feelings. Brissot is not very nice.

 

Antoine was walking up to the Riding School when someone appeared at his elbow.

 

“Saint-Just! I was hoping you would be here again today!” Maximilien Robespierre cooed at him. 

 

He shivered. 

 

Antoine had known that Maximilien Robespierre was intelligent. He had known he agreed with him. He knew that the man was virtuous.

 

But he had not known that Maximilien Robespierre was devastatingly adorable, with delicate nearly feline features, or that he was much younger than the engravings of him made him look, or that he was an Omega. 

 

A very available Omega if Antoine’s nose wasn’t mistaken.

 

He hadn’t been expecting any of this and now his own Alpha hormones stirred his blood at the very sight of Robespierre. 

 

Antoine nodded his head. “Of course. When I return to Blérancourt I intend to stand for election.”

 

Robespierre smiled. “I imagine you’ll do very well.” 

 

Antoine flushed with pleasure. 

 

They sat down in the front again. He scowled when Desmoulins sat down behind him and Robespierre again. 

 

“Sodomize any Omegas this morning, Saint-Just?” The Beta whispered into his ear. 

 

“No, how about you, Camille?” He snarled back quietly. 

 

“I’m married.”

 

“Like that’s stopped you,” Antoine muttered and turned around right as the President called the order to session. 

 

“I would like the tribune,” Brissot immediately called out, many trying to shout him down. “I have a right to speak at the tribune!”

 

The president called for order than floor grew silent. Brissot mounted and looked down at the floor. He smiled at Antoine for a moment before beginning. 

 

XXX

Maxime was shaking in fury. 

 

“So gentlemen you can see the benefit for not allowing unmarried or unbonded Omegas in the Assembly. They are a distraction to all of us. We should ban all of them from the floor. Thank you,” Brissot finished and once again smiled silky at Robespierre. 

 

He grit his teeth as the man waltzed past. The president rose to his feet. 

 

“May we have a vote on Brissot’s proposition?”

 

Maxime turned and stared at the Rolands. Manon stared back. He could recognize her work. Brissot wasn’t creative enough for this plan. 

 

“All opposed?”

 

Around forty percent of the hall raised their hands. Jacobins, the minority Omegas who were here, and some of the Mountain. Maxime saw Marat raise his hand, with a sneer on his face. Behind him Danton and Camille had also raised their hands as well. 

 

Much to his surprise Saint-Just also raised his hand. His perfect face was frozen in cold dislike. 

 

“All for?” 

 

Over half the hall raised over their hands. 

 

The president glanced at Maximilien before he slammed his gravel. “Motion passes. As after this session any unmarried Omegas will be banned from the National Assembly.”

 

XXX

 

Maxime stormed ahead, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his head down. 

 

“Maxime, Maxime, stop!” Camille shouted at him, running after him. 

 

He did not, quickening his step. He was so angry that he was worried the next person that spoke to him, he would hit. 

 

“For god’s sake Robespierre cease your temper tantrum so we can help you,” Marat grabbed his arm and wheeled Maxime around to face him. “I will slap you if you don’t.”

 

Maxime glared down at Marat. Marat sneered up at him. 

 

“If you didn’t notice I voted to keep you in that room, not out of it.”

 

Camille finally caught up with him. 

 

“Maxime, Maxime, come here.” 

 

He wrapped his arms around Maxime and buried his face into his neck. Slowly Maximilien wrapped his arm around Camille as well. His smell was a comfort. 

 

“It’ll be okay, Maxime. We’ll figure out something else. You’ll be back,” Camille promised softly. 

 

His throat worked hard against the knot that formed within it. Everything he’d worked so hard to do, everything he’d poured into the Republic so far, voted away with one petty bastard. 

 

Danton and Saint-Just arrived. Danton gestured to the other side of the river. “Lets go have some lunch.” 

 

XXX

 

“They what?” Lucile Desmoulins gasped.

 

Maxime took a sip of coffee. “Brissot, in not so many words, asked for my removal from the Assembly. As of today,” he spread his hands open with a sigh, “I am not welcome in the Riding School.” 

 

Lucile rested her head in hand, frowning at him. 

 

Gabrielle Danton tuttted, tosing her thick hair over her shoulder. “Robespierre, Brissot is a cad. He is a Beta who thinks that he is an Alpha. Do you think he will try and induce war now?”

 

Marat snorted and upset the couch when he bounded up. “Indeed he will. He knows that if he can remove the Jacobin command structure-”

 

“There is no Jacobin command structure,” Maximilien said crossly. 

 

“He knows if he removes Robespierre, the only thing he has to do is frighten the rest of the herd. He’ll declaim me, pay off Georges-”

 

“Oi!”

 

“Which will include getting rid of Camille-”

 

“E-excuse me?” 

 

“And,” Marat paused. “Well, actually I don’t know anything about you, Saint-Just. What could Brissot offer you?”

 

Saint-Just shook his bangs out of his eyes. “Nothing. I belong to no faction. I will fight them all.”

 

Marat glanced over at Maxime. 

 

“I like this one.” 

 

Danton snapped his fingers. “Focus, doctor. As much as I loath to admit it, you’re right. Without Robespierre spearheading the pacifist party, the whole thing falls apart. I’m not willing to make myself a pariah and no one will listen to you, not without being expected to answer for the rest of your,” he waved his hand around, “you-ness.” 

 

Marat sat down on the arm of the settee. “Thank you Danton. May all your sons be bishops.” 

 

“So how do we get out dear Robespierre back into the Assembly?” Danton asked leaning back in his seat. Silence fell over them for a moment. Then Gabrielle piped up. 

 

“He should get married. They only banned unwedded Omegas, correct? So if he gets married…”

 

Danton cut in. “Who will we find to marry Maximilien?” he asked with a rather cruel twist to his lips. Maxime opened his mouth to respond that he had plenty of marriage proposals, merci beaucoup before Saint-Just responded. 

 

“I will.” 

 

Every head flung around to look at him. Even Maxime, who blinked. Saint-Just lifted his chin. 

 

“I would be honored to marry Robespierre.” 

 

Before he could figure out what the hell _ that  _ meant, Marat clapped his hands together. 

 

“Well that was simple. Then when we get back in, have the rule repealed, and the two of you can divorce. Excellent. Does anyone know a priest who will marry them this afternoon?” 

 

Maxime couldn’t help but interject. “That’s not the point doctor and you know it. The point is they decided to use the one thing about me I can not control, my second sex, to try and silence me! Next they will be banning men with green eyes, or those of us who still wear powder!”

 

Marat leaned towards him, yellow eyes flashing. “Then get back in there and show them that you can’t be. Unless you plan on turning toward pamphleteering full time, it’s where you are best, that and the Jacobins.”

 

Maxime twisted his mouth, setting his face into stone. 

 

He glanced at Saint-Just who squarely met his gaze. 

 

Maxime sighed. “Let’s go find a priest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any formatting issues while I wrestle with Google Docs. Yikes. Thank you to everyone for leaving me kudos and comments and not reporting me to the history police for this. <3


	3. Chapter Three: A Wedding.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally a wedding.

Chapter Three: A Wedding. 

A/N: Well that was fast. 

 

In the end, they couldn’t find a priest. Instead, Marat dragged them to city hall. Danton was talking to one of the clerks, gesturing to where Maxime and Saint-Just were standing. The clerk frowned intensely.

 

The sun was setting over Paris by the time the clerk finally relented and handed over a marriage certificate. 

 

“The two of you will sign this, and I’m assuming these three,” he waved at Danton, Camille and Marat, “will be your witnesses?”

 

“Oui,” Maxime sighed. He felt terrible for having to drag Saint-Just through this pointless charade. 

 

“Here.” Saint-Just took the quill from the clerk and in slanted looping letters signed his name. 

 

_ Louis Antoine Leon de Saint-Just.  _

 

He passed it Maximilien, who signed next to it. 

 

_ Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre. _

 

The clerk took it back, looked it over, then pressed a heavy wooden stamp to it. 

 

“You are now considered married in every province of France and her colonies. Congratulations monsieurs.”

 

“Merci,” Maxime said stiffly, not looking at Saint-Just. 

 

“Damn, I didn’t even bring you any champagne. Forgive me, Maximilien,” Danton said, grinning slightly. 

 

Maxime shot him an incredibly unamused look. All he wanted to do now was go home and maybe sleep if he could or work on his next speech for the Jacobins. 

 

The five men exited the building and for a moment stood on the street. 

 

“Well, then I expect I will see you at the Riding School tomorrow?” Marat said brusquely. “Good. Well then, good night gentlemen.” 

 

With that Marat turned away and walked away with his rapid bandy-legged pace.

 

Danton hooked his arm around Camille. “We need to leave as well. Until tomorrow Maxime, Saint-Just.” 

 

Danton walked Camille away before he could say anything, leaving Saint-Just and Maximilien alone together in the street.

 

For the first time since signing...their marriage certificate Maxime looked at Saint-Just. The younger man was studying Maxime with an intense expression. 

 

“What are you going to do now?” Saint-Just asked. Maxime took a breath. 

 

“I’m going back to my apartment, on Saint-Honore. I have to finish a speech for the Jacobin Club. What about you, Saint-Just?” He tilted his head. 

 

Saint-Just blinked at him. He took a step towards Maxime. 

 

“You can call me Antoine. We’re married now,” he told him softly. 

 

Maxime flushed slightly. “If you like, I can.” The way Saint-Just or Antoine was staring at him was making him feel hot as if a tingle was spreading through his body. 

 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Maxime held his breath as Antoine took another step towards him. He didn’t know what was going to happen, only that his heart was racing. 

 

He heard Antoine take a harsh breath and rock back on his heels. “I should go too. I live on Gaillon street,” the younger man said softly. 

 

Maxime nodded wordlessly, letting Antoine brush past him. His sensitive nose caught the smell of Alpha pheromones again and he shuddered.

 

Maxime walked home in a daze, the hot tingling feeling that Antoine had caused still coursing through his veins. 

 

He didn’t speak as he walked into the Duplay household, his mind far away. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d left here this morning. 

 

He removed his clothing, carefully folding each piece and taking exceptional care of them. Maxime wouldn’t consider himself vain, but neat. His clothing was one of the few worldly things he truly valued. He removed his wig and set it on the stand next to his bed. His hair fell to his shoulders, slightly tangled from spending all day under his wig. Methodically, Maxime brushed it out and powered it, retying it when it felt smooth and soft to the touch.  

 

Before slipping his nightshirt over his head Maxime caught sight of his own naked frame in the mirror. He flushed slightly at his own brazen staring but carefully examined his pale freckled skin, his delicate frame, and his gaze eventually landed on the shadowed area between his thighs. 

 

Maxime had been young, still at Louis le Grand when his second sex had emerged. Omegas were a rarity in the school and Maxime had been the only one of his age. He’d been teased relentlessly and become a pariah among the other boys. When sister Henriette had died and he went home to arrange the funeral with his Aunts the rumor was spread that he left because one of the upper class Alphas’ had gotten him pregnant. 

 

Maximilien couldn’t say he enjoyed the ostracization but eventually, he’d adopted it into his persona. Often in his cases at the Arras bar, he spoke of having his second sex used against him, what trials he’d faced because of it and the importance of striking down the social stratifications that often prevent Omegas from being more than glorified sex objects. 

 

It was part of the reason it stung him so much today. Even in the middle of a Revolution, others would dare to try and draw lines across the colored, the religion, the sexes of others? Couldn’t they see it was ethereal and nonbinding at the supposed rights of Kings? All men were natural beings, it was being bound by societies stratification that made them unnatural.

 

Maxime finished slipping his nightshirt over his head, then sat down at his desk. It seemed like he did have a topic for his next speech.


	4. Plans Go Awry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antoine has a serious case of unrequited feelings. But not everyone can offer their congratulations to the new couple.

CHAPTER Four: Plans Go Awry.  

A/N: Antoine has a serious case of the unrequited feels. 

 

Antoine arrived back to his rented rooms that night feeling faint, as if his brain had been replaced by fluffy clouds.

 

He was married to Maximilien Robespierre. 

 

Maxime. 

 

He said the name out loud, just to see how it tasted in his mouth. He lowered his voice and rolled the name up from the back of his throat, letting it come out in growl. He did it again, just because he enjoyed the sound.

Practically, Antoine realized that it was simply a solution to a problem, but his heart thundered in his chest, making his head spin and blood sing. His dreams spun out of control as he sat heavily on his bed and fell backwards.  

 

He was married at Maximilien Robespierre, he who he had known only as he had known God before tonight.  

 

Would he allow Antoine to court him properly? Would he walk on Antoine’s arm tomorrow at the Assembly? They would need larger rooms together, but Antoine was here on the good grace of his brother-in-law, and his funds were quickly vanishing. 

 

Despite these concerns Antoine smiled to himself, the kind that he rarely allowed himself because it was unflattering and drew attention to his overly large nose. He smiled and thought on Maximilien. 

 

Maxime. 

 

XXX

 

Antoine woke the next morning still in a state of dream like euphoria. He hummed opera to himself while he dressed and kept having to fight back the urge to let his smile slip again. He wondered if he wrote to his mother if she would give him his father’s wedding ring. Likely she would be suspicious, thinking that he’d pawn them away again. 

 

He felt giddy at the possibility of meeting Maximilien’s parents. His family. His accent was northern and Antoine remembered reading that he was from Arras. That wasn't so far from Paris, they could go for the winter…

 

With that elating thought Antoine headed for the Assembly. He'd been the youngest elected to go and represent, but he was thrilled he'd lied and claimed he was 25. 

 

When he arrived, Antoine peeked inside. He saw that Robespierre was already seated, with Desmoulins at his side. Antoine glared slightly and made his way towards them. 

 

XXX

 

“I hardly slept last night,” Maximilien told Camille, who smirked slightly. 

 

“S-saint-Just wanted to get right to it, hm?”

 

Maxime groaned and nudged the younger man with his shoulder. “Arretez. No. We parted ways. I already feel bad enough, dragging him through this.”

 

Camille looked over his shoulder with a nod. “S-speak of the devil…” 

 

Maxime turned around to see Saint-Just walking towards them. His bearing was stiff and he was frowning stonily. Maximilien’s heart sank. Clearly he was just as unhappy as Maxime. 

 

Saint-Just arrived and seemed to loom over Camille. “Bonjour. I was hoping to sit next to my husband, Desmoulins.”

 

Camille stood up and sidled out of the way. He winked over his shoulder. “H-he’s all yours Saint-Just.”

 

Saint-Just watched him go, expression stormy. Then with utmost grace he sat next to Maximilien. 

 

For a long moment they were both silent, simply sitting next to each other and watching the other representatives stream past. Many glanced at Maximilien in confusion, and began to whisper. Maxime fiddled with his cuffs and cleared his throat. 

 

“I was hoping you would let me walk you into the Assembly,” Saint-Just said softly, looking over at him. “It would have made our status...obvious.”

 

Maxime blushed. “Je suis désolé. You’ll find I’m extremely absent minded. I simply walked here without thinking about anything else.” 

 

Saint-Just’s lips quirked up. He turned his eyes towards the door. “Regarde.” 

 

Maxime turned to see Brissot striding in, looking far too pleased with himself. Maxime narrowed his eyes. 

 

“He’s a false idol,” Antoine said stiffly. “There is no place for him in here.”

 

Brissot had caught sight of Maxime and his face darkened. Before he could confront him however, the president called the hall to order. 

 

He looked down at Maximilien. “Can you explain what you’re doing here, Monsieur Robespierre? I believe we voted your sex out of the Assembly yesterday.”

 

“I think we would all like to know what you think you’re doing here, Robespierre,” Brissot snarled. 

 

Calmly Maxime rose to his feet. “I believe only unmarried Omegas were  _ unjustly _ banned from the Assembly?” 

 

“Oui,” Brissot snapped before anyone else could answer. “Why does that matter?”

 

“I was married last night to Antoine Saint-Just. I have as much of a right to be here as anyone,” Maxime said. He stared up at Brissot. It was hard to believe that only a few years before he considered him a friend.  

 

There was a wave of murmurs and whispers. The president looked down. 

 

“Do you have any proof you were married?” 

 

“You may check with City Hall. And I have witnesses. Georges Danton, Camille Desmoulins and Jean-Paul Marat all saw the ceremony,” Maxime snapped.

 

The president sat back, expression bemused. Much to Maxime’s incandescent fury he looked over at Brissot, who shook his head empathetically. 

 

“Well Robespierre...I will have to check with the City Hall and see if this is true…”

 

The Riding School erupted into noise. The Mountain had leapt to its feet and rained abuse down on the President, Brissot, the Rolands. Everyone else called for Maxime’s immediate ejection.

 

Brissot came striding down the stairs and met Maxime halfway down the Assembly hall. 

 

“I bet you think that was very clever, marrying your way back into the Assembly,” Brissot said. His voice was nearly washed away by the tide of noise. “But this will change nothing. The patrie will rise and make war for the freedom of man.”

 

“I will give my life to stop you, Brissot,” Maxime promised. 

 

Brissot eyes darkened and he leaned in. “So it will be.” 

 

He turned to face the Riding School. The president’s repeated shouts for order were finally succeeding. 

 

“Non, non. Let us congratulate Robespierre and Saint-Just on their marriage! Although I have one question for them.” 

 

Brissot turned to Saint-Just. 

 

“I’m assuming this happy marriage was consummated last night?” He looked over his shoulder at Maxime. “Otherwise, it shouldn’t really be considered anything than a marriage of convenience. An  _ obvious _ ploy by a desperate Omega. So Saint-Just, care to tell us about your little Omega? Did Robespierre perform his duties ablely?” 

 

Saint-Just flushed slightly, either from embarrassment or anger, Maximilien couldn't tell. He was sure his own face was pale in rage. 

 

The hall erupted again, people shaking their fists at Brissot or cheering him on while Maxime stood rooted to the floor. The banging of the gravel became an echo in his head and a fine red mist was rising before his eyes.  

 

Brissot turned to him, a weasley smile on his face. 

 

“Maybe with a baby in you, you’ll learn where you belong-”

 

Maxime’s hand shot out and connected against Brissot’s cheek. His head snapped to the side and the Riding School went silent. His breath was coming fast.

 

Maximilien was shaking, silent and furious. The world had narrowed down around him and he wasn’t breathing. 

 

Brissot met his eyes. And smiled. 

 

“Monsieur Robespierre! That is not becoming!” The president admonished. “I think it’s best that you leave for the day…”

 

He turned to face the stands, his face perfectly blank. A sea of faces confronted him, blending into a mass of color. He opened his mouth to speak but bile rose, hot and sour in his throat and he turned away. 

 

How dare they pry into his personal life! Wasn’t his service enough? His belief in the Revolution? Was Maximilien Robespierre, the lawyer and politician enough for them? Why did they decide to try and see into his bed, his heart, his head? It made him sick. 

 

Several members of the National Guard, posted on the door moved forward to collect him. 

 

Maxime put his hands up, stopping them. “Do not touch me.” He brushed past them, heading for the door his heels clicking on the hard floor. His vision blurred and the air seemed to weigh physically on his chest. He pushed his way past the doors, gasping slightly. 

 


	5. Flames

Chapter Five: Flames

A/N: Our guys finally have a chat. Also a note on my personal characterization of Antoine Saint-Just. I think I tend to see Antoine as younger than most writers portray him. This is in part because I’m only 2 years younger than he was when he died and I might project slightly onto him. But also because he Antoine _was_ young when he died. He was brave and had a mind like a damn steel trap and a person I admire deeply. But he was also in his mid-twenties and “ironically” wrote a self-insert porno spoof dedicated to the Vatican and a gushy letter to Robespierre which will make me sigh every time I see it cause it’s a little silly. I love it, but it’s a little silly. And I don’t want to underplay how important he was or imply I don’t think he shouldn’t be taken seriously because of his age, (@ Hilary Mantel) but I also want to portray the side of him that was just beginning to grow. No one has commented on it, so I guess it’s not too noticeable but I wanted to clarify.

Also I want to take this moment to send all of my adoration to Ethinke_arete because Les Saisons breaks my heart everytime I read it and I love it more than I love most people. <3 (The reviews it deserves are coming I swear it on my soul.)

XXX

Maximilien made his way around the edge of the building before he had to stop, clawing at the brick for support. His face was wet with sweat and breathing seemed like an insurmountable task.

To be so displayed in front of the whole of the Assembly, Brissot burrowing into his personal life like a parasite.

He slumped against the wall, knees weak. He looked up into the sky, mouth fixed into a hard unmovable line as he swallowed the knot his throat.

Footsteps slowly approached Maximilien. He looked over and saw Saint-Just standing there.

The young man approached him, eyebrows furrowed. He gently laid his hand on Maxime’s shoulder and Maxime jerked away.

“I don’t want your pity, Monsieur Saint-Just,” he snapped. “That spectacle in there was quite enough for me today.”

Saint-Just didn’t move away, his shining brown eyes staring intently into Maxime’s face.

“I’m leaving with you. They damaged my honor as well,” he said. His voice was quiet but did not lose any of its earlier intensity. “Also, I wanted you to call me Antoine. I thought you were.”

Maxime laughed without humor. “I release you Saint-Just. You don’t need to participate in this charade any longer for my sake. Go ask for a divorce.”

Saint-Just moved closer. “Non. I’m not leaving you. “

He bristled. “Because I need you to fight my battles for me? That I am so helpless as to need an Alpha?” He stepped up to Saint-Just, close enough that he could feel the heat of his chest. “Allow me to illuminate you, I don’t need anyone to fight for me.”

Saint-Just didn’t back down. He simply blinked and said, “Of course you don’t. It’s because I agree with you.”

It was as if he’d snuffed out the flame of anger in Maxime. His calm tone and baring made Maxime take a deep breath and rock back on his heels. He held a hand to his eyes, suddenly ashamed.

“I apologize Saint-Just. That was uncalled for. I don’t know what came over me.”

Saint-Just nodded. “It’s understandable.” His flawless face finally crumbled slightly and he sneered. Even his sneer was remarkable in its disdain. “Brissot and his party are going to pay. Marat walked out after you. He’s likely writing their declamation to the sans-culottes as we speak.”

Maxime sighed. “That’s unnecessary.” He rubbed his temple, feeling a headache build behind his eyes. He began to slowly walk towards home. Saint-Just fell into step beside him.

“You should have Desmoulins write about what happened today. And maybe publish a pamphlet yourself. I could help,” he offered, and Maxime managed a small smile.

“I don’t wish to use Camille. But you’re right. The people should know of Brissot’s treachery. I will be speaking of it to the Jacobins as well. To think I ever thought him pure…” Maxime finished softly.

Saint-Just rested his hand on his shoulder. “There are always those who will hide behind a veneer of virtue to hide their true intent. Luckily we will make people see him for what he is.”

Saint-Just’s tone was confident, nearly cavalier. Maxime looked up at him. The younger man’s face was illuminated by the midday sun, his eyes catching the light. He realized that Saint-Just had left his hand on his shoulder and warmed slightly.

“Aren’t you going home?” Maxime ventured quietly. “You don’t need to walk with me.”

Saint-Just shook his head. “I wish to stay with you. Is- is that alright?”

Maxime blinked. “Certainly, if you wish.”

Saint-Just smiled slightly and removed his hand from Maxime’s shoulder, only to offer him his arm. Slowly, Maximilien took it, feeling oddly bashful. He was very glad of Saint-Just’s friendship, even it had come on unexpectedly.   
  
XXX

The Duplays were more than happy to entertain Saint-Just, who fell in with the family as if he had been there the entire time. Eleonore seemed impressed with him. Antoine returned it, asking her about her classes with Jacques-Louis David.  
  
“They are beautiful patriots,” Saint-Just said when they were in Maxime’s room. “I approve.” He looked around the room however with a concerned expression. Maxime draped his coat over the back of his chair.  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s…small,” Saint-Just finally said, meeting his eyes. “Truly a single omega’s quarters.”  
  
Maxime bristled slightly. Maurice was letting him live here rent free because they shared a common belief. If it wasn’t good enough for Saint-Just he could find the door. “Well yes. I am an omega alone. Is there a problem?”  
  
Saint-Just looked him in the eye with his intense stare. “I thought that we should move in together. I thought your rooms would be large enough for us both.”  
  
Maximilien looked at him dumbly. “What?”  
  
“Since we are married,” Saint-Just said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.  
  
A small thread of suspicion began to fray in Maxime’s mind. Was Saint-Just toying with him? He couldn’t be sincere. He didn’t actually believe their marriage was genuine?  
  
Slowly Maxime sat down on the bed.  
  
“Saint-Just. Did…did you actually _want_ to marry me?” He asked.

XXX

  
Antoine blinked, surprised.

Despite asking several times, Maxime continued to call him by his family name. And now he was asking if Antoine truly wanted to be married to him. He looked as if he didn’t believe it, carefully scrutinizing Antoine’s expression.

“I volunteered,” Antoine replied. His heart was a trapped bird in his ribcage, dashing itself against the bones.

“That’s not what I asked,” Maximilien replied smartly. “Did you actually want to marry me?”

Antoine grabbed one of the chairs so he could sit across from Maximilien. He felt he should sit for this discussion. “Oui.”

Maxime blinked and shook his head slightly as if he couldn’t trust his own ears.

“What do you mean? Did you come to Paris, to-to court me?” He stuttered out.

Antoine hesitated. “I knew you lived here. I wanted to be a representative, but…” He trailed off, watching Maximilien’s expression dissolve into disbelief.

Maxime rubbed his eyes under his glasses, shaking his head. “This is madness,” he muttered and looked up at Antoine. “You can’t possibly mean it. Why on earth would you want to court me?”

It was Antoine’s turn to stare at him in shock.

“Why?” He echoed. “You’re the most enlightened man in all of France. The pillar that is holding up our tottering government. The Incorruptible,” he emphasized. Across from him, Maximilien flushed red. It made his freckles stand out even more.

“I-I wouldn’t say that. But I appreciate your compliments,” he mumbled, smiling slightly. “But surely, Saint-Just-”

“Antoine. Please. Call me Antoine,” he insisted again.

Maximilien’s expression softened. “Antoine. You must be aware that you could have anyone you wanted. You really don’t need to stay married to me.” He gestured to all of Antoine. “I mean, surely you had beaus fighting over your hand.”

Antoine blinked, feeling flushed. “Did you just call me handsome?” He asked dreamily. He was starting to smile again.

Maxime looked away, then back. “Do not be coy. You must be aware of what your appearances do to others,” he said brusquely.

Antoine was, but it was different to hear his husband say it aloud. Feeling daring, he reached over and grabbed Maximilien’s hand. He held it gently between his, cradling it the way one would cradle a kitten or chick. He stroked his thumb over the pale knuckles, the ink-stained fingertips, the soft palm. Finally, he bent over and kissed the back of his ring finger, where his wedding ring should be.

Antoine raised his gaze to meet Maxime’s.

“Are you aware of what your appearance does to me? Of what your words inspire in me? My dear, I wouldn’t care if Liberty herself offered herself to me. I want you,” he said as simply as he could.

Maximilien seemed to have been struck silent, mouth open and cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat and tried to speak.

“Well, then I suppose if you really feel so strongly, we can remain married.” His words were partially strangled, but Antoine smiled.

He could win Maximilien’s affection, so long as he was given the opportunity.   
  
Since Maxime didn’t seem to mind Antoine’s freedom with his person, he got out of his chair to sit next to him on the bed. Maxime startled but didn’t try to move away, looking at Antoine, with his head cocked slightly. He took a silent breath before blurting out in an embarrassingly adolescent way: “May I kiss you now?”

They both blushed and Antoine almost wanted to die from shame. However moments later Antoine regretted the thought because Maxime put his hand on his cheek and leaned forward.

It was a simple kiss. Their lips met gently. Maximilien’s were slightly chapped. Antoine had seen him bite them in agitation. However, there were no other lips that Antoine ever wanted again.

They parted an inch, and Antoine caught Maxime looking up at him through his green tinted lenses. Antoine caved in to his desires and pressed forward again, leaning more into the other man’s space. Maximilien let out a small noise and Antoine felt something like electricity race up his spine and spread through his bones as he wrapped his arms around Maxime’s shoulders.

Antoine nudged at Maxime’s lips with his tongue and they opened for him as a rosebud would bloom under the light of the sun. Antoine gently pushed his way inside, tasting, breathing, feeling the omega in his arms. He groaned softly and rubbed his tongue along Maxime’s, moving together in a way that humans had known since time began.

The kiss broke eventually, although both parties were flushed and panting by the end of it. Antoine smiled shyly and internally cheered when Maxime returned it, twisting their fingers together on his lap.

“Have I convinced you?” he asked softly. Maxime let out a small sigh.

“Oui. I suppose. I didn’t expect you but, you’ve come at a good time. If nothing else, once we live together Brissot will have to find another way to get around me.”

Antoine squeezed his hand.

“Us. I stand with you, Maximilien.”

 


	6. The Cordeliers Quarter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maximilien Robespierre has been compelled to move across the river with his new husband who he is gradually falling for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *Poofs back into existence* Help! I’ve fallen into the Hilary Mantel philosophy of ‘If only Robespierre had moved closer to Desmoulins everything would have been okay’ and I can’t get up!   
> Clarification: I do not actually believe that. Same way I don’t think anyone’s biology should limit their potential in life. But here we are!

All of Maximilien’s possessions fit into a small trunk. Antoine Saint-Justs’ took up even less space. 

 

“If you owned anything more, you might not be able to fit up here,” Camille teased, grabbing one side of the trunk to help Maxime move it up the three flights of stairs to the top floor apartment on the corner of St. Germain.

 

Maximilien didn’t respond, still slightly disappointed by the arrangement. He didn’t mind living closer to Camille, or even to Danton and Marat. However he knew that Maurice Duplay had been disgruntled that Maxime and Antoine hadn’t been able to move into one of his properties, or stayed on the other side of the river, closer to other Jacobins. They would have if it hadn’t been for their issue of money. 

 

Technically Maxime was still working as a public prosecutor and Antoine was on the National Guard’s payroll. Between the two of them, they barely had enough to cover the cost of the third-floor apartment and sharing the Desmoulins maid. Anything on the other side of the Seine was simply out of their market.           

Luckily Danton, who seemed to have his finger on the pulse of his neighborhood, mentioned that the landlord of St. Germain would be willing to rent a slightly lower rate for them. 

 

“He wants a complete set,” Danton stage whispered. “Now he has me, Camille, and you Robespierre. If he had one more floor you can bet he’d be wooing Marat into moving his printing press.”

 

Maxime decided to consider himself lucky that Danton had decided they were to remain allies. Currently, anyway. 

 

He shook his thoughts away as he unlocked the door and he and Camille set the trunk down. Antoine followed them in, carrying a small wooden crate, containing mostly books from the look of it.

 

The apartment had two small bedrooms, a dining room with a fireplace, a kitchen, and the only reason Maxime had been convinced to live in this building: the previous tenant had left a small bronze slipper bathtub. It was heavily tarnished and dented on one side, but Maxime was thrilled. 

 

His heats had always left him feeling coated in slick and sweat. Despite how he scrubbed himself afterward in a basin, he always felt that people could still smell it laying heavily on his skin. It made Maxime uncomfortable, feeling so exposed to strangers and colleagues alike. 

 

Maximilien knew that it was silly, to try and indulge like that simply because he didn’t like the way his skin felt but it didn’t stop him from eagerly imagining the warm water enclosing his body after he sweated through his latest heat.

 

Lucile had followed them up and placed a bottle of champagne on the dining room table along with a basket containing a loaf of bread and a few oranges. 

 

“Congratulations to your union, even though we’re a week late,” she said puckishly. Maxime smiled.      

 

“Thank you, Lucile,” he said sincerely. He saw Camille and Lucile glance at each other. Camille gave her a small shrug. 

 

Maximilien explored the dusty apartment, rather avoiding Antoine. Since their kiss, Maxime had felt rather strange in his company. Antoine’s eyes always seemed to find his own and their intense gaze made Maximilien flush. 

 

However since both of them had so little to bring, it took no time at all until Camille and Lucile left them, going down the stairs to their own apartment. 

 

Antoine and Maximilien were left alone. There seemed to be a tactful if silent agreement that they wouldn’t speak of their marriage or Antoine’s feelings, or their kiss just yet as they quietly organized their books and papers on the only shelves in the place, in the dining room. Antoine even offered to put his books on the top shelves where Maxime would have had stand on a stool to reach them. 

 

Maxime ruefully reflected that at least they would have plenty of space to write on the table together.

 

Dusk fell and it finally occurred to Maximilien he was hungry. He glanced at Antoine, who was sorting through his letters and hesitantly cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry, Antoine?” he asked. 

 

The young man looked up at him, brown eyes reflecting the candles and sunset. 

 

“Are you thinking of breaking into the bread? There’s a knife in my box,” he offered. 

 

Maximilien nodded. He wavered for a moment, realizing that Antoine had evaded the question. Ultimately, he halved one orange, sliced into the bread and poured the champagne into teacups, lacking any other glasses.

 

Antoine looked up when Maxime placed the motley meal before him. 

 

“I believe that we are going to have to do the shopping if you want anything else,” Maximilien said, sitting across from him. 

 

Antoine smirked, tearing into the bread (without the blessing). “So long as I have coffee, there is no greater substance I can have.” 

 

Maximilien laughed, surprising them both. When had he last felt comfortable enough to laugh with anyone other than Camille? “I agree,” he said through his gasps. 

 

Antoine’s smirk grew into a blooming smile. Once Maxime had himself under control he glanced at him under his eyelashes. It really was a lovely smile, since it seemed to lighten his entire face to be much younger. It seemed to make his eyes shine with some internal light as if viewing candles lit in a window from far down a road. A guiding light.  

 

After that the film of shyness that had stayed Maxime’s tongue during the day dissolved and he found it much easier to speak to Antoine, who seemed more than willing to push aside his papers for Maxime. 

 

It might have been the champagne, which went straight to Maximilien’s head. It made him feel slightly silly, sitting there eating fruit and bread with the most intriguing Alpha he had ever met who, through a series of political machinations, was now his husband. 

 

“You have a bust of  Antinous . Do you find him admirable? Do you keep a bust of all the men you find inspiring?” Maxime asked, pulling a segment of orange apart and popping it into his mouth. It was old and the flavor was cloying, but it balanced the dryness of the champagne. He smiled slightly. “Or just the ones whose name you share?”  

 

Antoine followed the motion with his eyes before shaking his head. “Non. It is more like...to remind me of what we,” he waved his hand in the space between them, over the table, “are striving towards.”

 

“And what are we striving towards, Antoine?” Maxime breathed, curious as to how the younger man was interpreting events.

 

“A republic, Maxime.” 

 

One of the candle stubs guttered and died. The shadows fell over his face, covering Antoine’s left eye and picking out the gold in his hair. For a moment Maxime was stunned, feeling as if he had just glimpsed the spirit Justice. Then he shook himself, flashing cold for a moment.

 

Maximilien blinked as Antoine went to reignited the candle. He waved Antoine off from the flint. 

 

“There’s really no need. I think I’m about to go to bed,” Maximilien said, not considering his words.

 

Antoine nodded and instead started snuffing the lights out with the tips of his bare fingers.

 

“You go, I’ll be in momentarily,” he said softly and Maxime went cold again. 

 

He’d forgotten all about the sleeping arrangements. 

 


End file.
